


All Spaces Filled with Silence

by lady_krysis (saekhwa)



Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: Canon Character of Color, Character Study, Character of Color, Community: three weeks for dw, F/M, Female Character of Color, POV Character of Color, POV Female Character, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-12
Updated: 2010-05-12
Packaged: 2017-10-09 21:40:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/91887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saekhwa/pseuds/lady_krysis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aisha doesn't share her stories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Spaces Filled with Silence

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at the [](http://the-losers-2010.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**the_losers_2010**](http://the-losers-2010.dreamwidth.org/) [Inaugural Commentfic Party](http://the-losers-2010.dreamwidth.org/347.html?thread=52059&style=mine#cmt77403) for the prompt 'comparing scars.'

Clay runs his fingers down the flat plane of Aisha's stomach until he reaches the raised, puckered scar of a knife wound that didn't heal right. "And this one?" he asks, flicking his eyes up to her face and raising an eyebrow.

She gives him a shrug and then smiles and says, "I busted a party. Some guys got pissed."

Clay stares at her, but Aisha's been stared down by harder men, rougher men; she stares back. Clay doesn't quite look away first. He ducks his chin, watches her a few seconds longer, and then slowly drops his eyes from her face to her breasts, back down to the scar. He slides his fingers over her panties, skimming lower until he finds more scars crosshatched on the inside of her left thigh.

"This one?"

Aisha sits up and flips Clay onto his back, straddling his hips and digging her nails into his chest. "You want to know about the tats, too? And the piercings?" She rolls her hips in a slow grind, feeling his cock twitch in interest.

"Sure," Clay says like it's the easiest thing in the world. Aisha can see what makes him a good team lead, but he's got too much heart.

"I don't think so, papi." She bends down and takes a kiss, hard, demanding—he doesn't have a right to anything else.

He grips her hips, squeezes, and then pushes up. She tenses, ready to shift for the throw, but he's just pulling her down, moving his hips in short, aborted thrusts, his cock thickening between her legs. He slides a hand up to cup her breast, the rough pad of his thumb circling her nipple.

"Yeah," Clay gasps and hooks a finger into her panties when she curls her fingers around his shaft, "maybe later."

"Maybe never," Aisha says and sinks down onto him, closing her eyes and tossing her head back.

She rocks slowly and then faster, snapping her hips down into each thrust, bottom lip caught between her teeth. They don't talk, during or after, and Aisha doesn't think about the scars that riddle Clay's body—how many she put there, how many Roque put there, how many more they'll share in their hunt for Max. This isn't the time for talking.

But when they're both sated, breathing heavily, Aisha can feel Clay stroking the knife wound from point to point, over and over again. She closes her eyes and doesn't shiver at the drag of his thumb across her skin just like she didn't shiver when the drug runner put his blade there.


End file.
